Tied Together With A Smile
by ElvendorkInfinity
Summary: A series of one shots following Hermione Granger before, during and after Hogwarts. Canon compliant.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: It has been **_**much**_** too long since I wrote a Harry Potter fanfiction... **

**I currently have plans for about forty chapters or so – I will take prompts if anyone has any, feel free to give them. All events are canon compliant, though not all take place within the books. Some will be longer than others.**

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"_There is no friend as loyal as a book" – Ernest Hemingway._

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By now, you're quite used to being on your own; you are nine years old and streets ahead of the others in your class, who scorn and shun you for it. No matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to fit in with them, and they seem to make no effort to make things easier on your part, so you've given up. It's easier to expect nothing from them and find solace in paper and words, knowledge and learning.

Your books do not mock you, they do not leave you out of games or very deliberately pair up so that you are always, always, the one left without a partner. The teachers don't seem to mind when this happens; if you are in a class of even numbers, they simply place you with whichever other child has been unlucky enough to end up alone. If the number is odd, then who better than the brightest girl in school to be the one to work on her own?

In your books, you can be anyone; you can absorb all the knowledge your brain is capable of understanding or lose yourself in imaginary worlds of fascinating adventures and, of course, friends. You don't have many; not in the flesh at least.

Of course, your solitude is another reason for them to pick on you, but you learned quickly how to avoid them, how to walk with your eyes to the ground, taking quick, smart steps through the corridors and classrooms so that you pass by largely unnoticed and you can pretend not to see their laughs and sneers when they see you. You've found the best places in school to hide during break times, the best places for getting away from them. Sometimes you have to find new hiding spots; if they discover them, the purpose is ruined. If the teachers come across you, they tell you to go and play with the others.

'Hermione?' Asks one of them quietly; she's young and pretty, and she smiles at you when she talks, but she also leans down and puts on a false voice as though speaking to someone much younger than you are, or very dim. You don't like being made to feel stupid, you hate to be embarrassed; you have had enough of it. You hate it when the adults treat you like that, but you haven't the courage to correct them. They are Authority.

'Yes Miss?' You squeak, knowing the game is up. You'll have to hide somewhere new tomorrow.

'Why don't you go outside? I'm sure there are lots of fun things for you to do!' And there she goes again, presuming to know, presuming to understand, thinking to make you feel better. You just want to go _home_. You can learn just as well by yourself, you know you can.

'I don't want to,' you mumble, falling back on your old habit of staring at the floor when you talk and avoiding the eyes of the person you are addressing.

'Why not?' She exclaims, straightening up and beckoning to you. You follow her, because you daren't say no to a teacher. But you don't reply to her question; you just shrug. 'Don't you want to spend time with your friends?' Another shrug. Her face falls into familiar lines of sympathy and exasperation. 'Hermione, you aren't going to make any friends staying locked up on your own all the time. Why don't you make an effort?'

She's still using that voice, which makes you want to scowl, but you arrange your face into looking as polite as you can and smile stiffly. She ushers you outside into the bright sunshine and shouts of the playground.

_Make an effort_.

Do they think that you don't try? Do they think that you haven't tried _so hard_ to make friends, to join in? But they don't like you; you don't know why but they call you names and they push you around, they leave you out and they ignore you, or they deliberately seek to make your life a misery. Your lip trembles as you watch them running and playing; they scare you, they scare you so much you're shaking where you stand, and there's a hot lump rising in your throat at the thought of talking to them.

But Miss is watching you.

So you pluck up the courage to walk forwards and swallow your fear, plunging yourself into the lion's den.

When you get home, you will return to your books. You will bury yourself in them and forget the other children, the teachers and the humiliation of spending time with them – apart from them.

For now, though, you will be brave. You will _try_. And then you will return to your friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Dedicated to prettybirdy979, thank you for reviewing! Very short this time.**

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"_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_

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When the doorbell rang, it didn't seem like anything unusual. You didn't even pull your face from your book, determined to finish it by tomorrow. You like the summer holidays; you don't ever have to leave the house, and you can spend all your time with your eyes glued to the words strung together on the pages of your many books.

But the man on the doorstep was _very_ much unusual. He wore funny clothes and a pointy hat, like the wizards and witches in your stories. You didn't know, of course, until your parents called you downstairs and you saw him sat in your living room looking polite and kindly, smiling at you in a way somewhere between practised and spontaneously comforting. Your parents look somewhat shell-shocked, and you can't believe what he tells you; you literally refuse to.

Until he makes the empty mug in front of him grow legs and dance around the coffee table.

You don't like to believe things without proof. You need some evidence before you'll say something is, in fact, true, and magic was most definitely not real. You had never seen anything to say that it was.

But you can't ignore the information your very own eyes are feeding you, and his explanations begin to make sense.

Suddenly, you know how the football Thomas kicked at you managed to veer off course in mid-air, long before hitting you smack in the face as it should have done. You know how that poor baby bird slowed down before hitting the floor when it fell out of its nest. You know how your favourite book, torn apart by the children at school and stowed tearfully in your backpack, emerged the next day as if new.

As he repeats to you the explanation he has clearly already given your parents, you feel your eyes grow wide with wonder and have to make a conscious effort to prevent your mouth falling open. You can't believe this; it's impossible, it's _unreal_, literally, it has to be – these things don't _exist_, _magic_ doesn't exist – but you've seen him perform it, and if you can't trust your eyes what can you trust?

So you sit, you listen, and you absorb; you remember every word he says, down to his precise tone and his exact facial expression when he says them. It's what you do, what you always do; you remember, you analyse, and you ensure that you absolutely, always, understand, no matter how long it takes, because you decided long ago that you wanted to do something good in the world, wanted to _fix_ it, and you can't fix something without knowing how it works.

At eleven years old, your life is changed forever; the future has never looked more fascinating, more promising and wondrous, than it does right now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Dedicated to SummerSnowflakes15. Thank you to all reviewers, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)**

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"_Three up...two across."_

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A guide is appointed to take you to a place called Diagon Alley, where you are told you will find your school supplies. He is a tiny man with a squeaky voice, who tells you he works at Hogwarts and will teach you Charms when you arrive; he introduces himself as Professor Flitwick.

Still dazed by the whole idea, you and your parents follow him down the perfectly ordinary looking street and through a door only you and he seem able to see. He leads you to the back and taps the plain brick wall in a very precise place, standing back with a slightly indulgent smile as you watch, awestruck, the archway materialise before you.

'_Wow_,' you breathe; your parents gasp beside you.

The street is full and loud, filled with so many strange things you don't know where to look first. The bank is enormous, breathtaking, and terrifying; you have never seen creatures like those which guard it, with their frightening black eyes, long fingers and shrewd gazes. You are almost glad to leave, physically breathless at quite how remarkable the place is, and how small it makes you feel.

You have a list of things you need, buy them all carefully and handle every item with such reverence the Professor seems almost amused by your reaction, but he encourages the wonder you feel, and answers your every question as quickly and accurately as he can. You soon grow to like him.

Every shop demands your attention, with such strange posters, animals, devices and words you've never heard before thrown around in careless, every-day voices by more robed men and women, some tugging along children both younger and older than you; you spot some people who look around your own age, and just as nervous. You wonder how many of them knew already. You wonder if that will put them at an advantage, and strengthen your already iron resolve to learn as much as you can from your new books before term starts. You don't want to look a fool.

Your favourite shop by far is Flourish and Blotts and it takes all three of the adults to convince you to leave as you run your finger around the enormous leather spines of the tomes that line the shelves.

It is all amazing.

It is all _yours_...a whole world to which you belong and you never knew – if only those children could see you now, you think, with an uncharacteristically gleeful image of their fearful, awed faces. If only they _knew_ what you are, what you've always been, what you can _do_.

Seven years, you've been told. Seven years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with others like you, others who are _different_, others who perhaps always stood out a little too.

You will miss home, you will miss your parents terribly, but you try not to think about this, you try to ignore the heavy weight in your chest at the thought of goodbye, and instead you think of wands, potions and spells...

You think of everything to come, and you can't wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

**AN: Thank you once again for the reviews; chapter dedicated to xox-hattii-xox! Prompts for future chapters are welcome – they don't have to be moments actually from the books, but please be canon compliant, and would be posted in chronological order within the ones I already have planned. Enjoy! :-)**

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"_Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."_

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A new start, you have decided. That's what you will do; start all over again at Hogwarts, where everything will be different. You will be confident and proud; you will not, not _ever_ stand for being made to feel like you have before again. You don't care about them now; you have a whole new future waiting for you.

You've read all of your schoolbooks already, of course, and made sure you know everything possible about Hogwarts and what you will be expected to learn. You will be the best in the class; you will work as hard as it takes to get there and you will not hide away any more.

So when the round faced boy comes in, looking devastated by the loss of his pet toad, you make it your mission to help him; here is where you will begin. You stand with an air of definite authority and lead him down the train, asking everyone you pass if they've seen it; he seems frightened at the prospect of talking to them, and you understand painfully well, but you've buried your own fear. None of them can see how terrified you are by being confronted by all of this, none of them can see how absolutely petrified you are of wasting this chance, of _failing_.

Most of those you talk to are indifferent and dismissive at best; many of the older students seem irritated at the interruption by a couple of mere first years, and once this would have had you red faced and desperate to hide – it would have turned your confident, bossy voice to a barely audible squeak and you would have slunk away to be alone again. But _not any more_. It doesn't affect you

now, though you still find comfort in the fact that some of the older students are less bothered; are kind and sympathetic if not very helpful. You focus on these to form your view of this new world.

Eventually you reach a carriage with two boys your own age in it. There is an enormous pile of sweets on the seat; you inwardly roll your eyes – _boys_, honestly, do they ever stop eating?

Then you notice that the red-haired one of the pair is holding a very battered looking wand – he's going to cast a spell! You've already tried some yourself, but you haven't had anyone else to practice with – it would be fantastic to see some more magic, you think.

'Oh, are you doing magic?' You ask, 'Let's see it then.'

He clears his throat awkwardly and waves the old wand, reciting a spell that doesn't sound real to you but seems to be meant to change the colour of his rat. It has no effect.

'Are you sure that's a real spell?' You say, looking closely at the wand and then the rat to see if you can spot any difference. You can't. 'Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learnt all our set books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?'

You speak quickly out of habit, blurting out everything almost without drawing breath, desperate to find someone to speak to and share your interest with. It's _suffocating_ not to be able to talk to anyone about this, and it would make you feel much better if someone else could just tell you they were worried too – what if all the reading isn't enough? What if everyone else already has much more practice, much more magic, than you? The boys both look surprised, and the red-haired one speaks first.

'I'm Ron Weasley,' he mutters.

'Harry Potter,' the other boy introduces himself – suddenly you are in awe and awash with excitement once more – you've _heard_ of him! You've read all about him, and say so – it's _fascinating_, he's _famous_, part of _history, _and here you are, on your first real day in the wizarding world, actually having a _conversation _with him!

He doesn't even seem to be aware of his own fame though, looking genuinely shocked when you list the books he's in. You soon change the subject to Houses, struggling against the fear that bubbles in your chest – you've read about them in _Hogwarts, A History_, and you've heard that the Headmaster himself was in Gryffindor...oh you _do _hope you're in Gryffindor, it sounds the best – but you can't _know_, and it's so frustrating.

Then again, there's always Ravenclaw, that seems very good too, you're sure you'd fit in there...you must fit in _somewhere_, you _must_.

You leave now, taking Neville with you to continue the search for his toad and _buzzing_ with barely suppressed excitement...you're _sure_ this will be everything you hope it will be – oh please let it be...


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Very short chapter this time – the next one is longer. Dedicated to prettybird979.**

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"_Granger, Hermione!"_

"_Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head..."_

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You hold your breath throughout the Sorting Ceremony, fidgeting and glancing around. You listen to the Hat's song with all your usual attentiveness and drink in every word. You will remember them all in years to come – you will remember the sounds of muttering around you, the tumultuous applause from each table as new House members are called out, the candles that float suspended in mid air, casting their flickering orange light over the tense, expectant faces of your fellow first years and the slightly impatient expressions worn by some of the older students...

The enchanted ceiling above glitters with stars. The tattered old Sorting Hat sits on the stool until trembling first years are called forward; your anticipation increases for every second that passes, your heart thunders...you're so desperate to find out, and so terrified, that when your own name is called you hurry to the stool and pull the Hat on firmly, closing your eyes and trying hard not to shake too much.

It was only seconds, you will think later. You were sat on that stool for seconds at most, but even though your eyes are closed you know that everyone is watching you, and right now, it seems like a year has passed before the Hat finally makes its decision. You are weak with relief when you hear it call, for the entire room to hear,

'_GRYFFINDOR!_'

You have found your place at last.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Longer chapter this time, although it relies heavily on canon scenes - I hope the length makes up for that and the long wait, I'm sorry about that - I've been ill and busy, not a good combination...and then ff decided to screw with me trying to upload this - it would let me edit any of my other stories...just not this one. Anyway, sorted now, I hope you enjoy it. :)  
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"_It's no wonder no one can stand her...she's a nightmare, honestly...she must've noticed she's got no friends."_

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"_There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them."_

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In all the books you've read, of all the times you've imagine yourself somewhere different, somewhere _special_, none of it has ever been quite like this. Hogwarts is...you just can't describe it. It's literally another world, so different from anything you could have imagined existing that you still can't shake the feeling that it must be some sort of dream, even now you're here, you've seen it with your own eyes...

Everything – _everything_ – is fascinating and new and _wonderful_ – you can't seem to turn a corner without spotting something you never noticed before, and the more you see, the more there seems you have missed. You cannot learn fast enough, cannot wait to immerse yourself so completely in this place, this life, that you have almost forgotten your old one. It doesn't seem to matter any more, it's so distant, so removed from this castle and the incredible magic it holds.

You are so impatient to know more that you cannot stem the flow of your eagerness. You cannot risk anything going wrong, cannot possibly risk getting into trouble, getting sent back...you ache with homesickness for your parents but you know you could not bear to leave this place.

You read and practice spells, recite whole passages from the books to yourself well into the night, always arriving at the lessons knowing what you will cover beforehand. You can't help but feel that everyone else has got so much of a head start, they all seem to have grown up knowing, surrounded by magic – and you are determined not to fall behind.

As the weeks pass, though, the excitement begins to fade. Not the wonder, never – nor your insatiable thirst to know _more_...but in this crowded castle, you begin to feel lonely. You know you are not like them...they are all so much more relaxed than you.

How _can_ they be? How can they stand to run the risk of detentions and disgrace, which you try so hard to avoid? Why can you not, even here, seem to _fit in_?

Your resolve is weakening slowly. You don't want to choose, and yet it seems you will have to...the fear builds in your chest because you _know_ that this is your one and only chance...but is it too late? Is it too late to step back – dare you step back? You want to relax. You _do_, but...but what if you slip? What if they decide that you are not meant for this school after all?

Which do you choose – to fit in with your peers, or to excel in your classes? Why does it have to be one or the other?

The isolation tugs at you. It's the same thing as always...alone again, and it _hurts_, it always hurts.

You try to ingratiate yourself to them – you help in class, you try to point that Ronald boy in the right direction, but you are afraid that you came off wrongly, too enthusiastic as always – too ready to show off your talents because you _have _to in order to stay here...

He glowers at you for the rest of the lesson, though you try and ignore it; you can't shake the feeling that it's the same as before, it's the same here as it has ever been and you suddenly just want to go home...at least there the faces are familiar, at least you aren't liable to get lost because the stairs decided to move when you were halfway up them, at least there you can retreat to your bedroom and you don't have to share a dormitory with a group of girls who have clearly never liked you – you just want to go back – you _hate _this place, you _hate it_!

You grab your things quickly at the end of the lesson, stuffing them carelessly into your bag, desperate to be out of sight. You want the ground to swallow you up, that _look_ that he's giving you...you just want to be away from it.

You hurry away, barely managing to blink back the desperate tears. Your throat burns. You just want to cry.

'It's no wonder no one can stand her,' says the Ronald boy to Harry Potter as they leave the class – you hear him and bow your head over the books clasped in front of you, trying to hide your face, not caring where you are running, 'she's a nightmare, honestly.'

You accidentally knock into Harry in your hurry to get past, but don't pause to apologise – you blindly head for the bathroom, wanting to lock yourself away from this bustling crowd and just stay there...

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There is a feast in the Great Hall. It's Hallowe'en.

You don't want to go. You can't bring yourself to leave this room. You don't want to face them.

You don't know how long you've been down here – longer than you thought, because you can hear people moving about in the corridors. The feast must have finished.

Slowly, you stand up from the closed toilet lid where you have been crouched, wiping your eyes. You should return to the Common Room. You're being stupid; you just need to...to...something. You don't know what.

But as you turn towards the door, something is blocking your path – a gigantic, monstrous being you instantly recognise from books but _no_, it can't – it can't – your legs tremble and you stumble backwards – the thing advances, grunting and raising its enormous wooden club – you scream and cower against the wall – all sense and thought has left you – it _can't_ – oh please, oh God, it's – it's – but – but a _troll_, how could a _troll _–?

It takes a swipe at the sinks on the other wall, knocking them off as easily as brushing away an irksome fly, grunting and roaring and stinking –

The door flies open and you tear your eyes away for the briefest of moments from the trolls advancing form – Harry Potter and Ron Weasley burst into the room.

You cannot move. You barely register their shouts, your eyes wide and fixed on the troll again, your mouth open in fear – Harry tries to pull you away but you can't move, you can't even think...

You're numb as you watch them disarm it with its own club. Harry leaps onto its back and Ron – Ron uses the very spell that had you hiding here in the first place...

It falls with a crash, making the whole room shake. It's silent for what feels like a long time before you manage to speak,

'Is it – dead?'

You barely hear his answer, the reality of the situation only sinking in gradually.

They just risked their lives. _They just risked their lives for you_.

Above the terror, the paralysing numbness of disbelief, there is another feeling, one that belies even your fear of punishment when the teachers arrive. It's a warmth that spreads through you and emboldens you for yet another in a long list of firsts since receiving that fateful letter only months ago.

You lie to the teachers.

Harry and Ron stare at you in shock; Ron drops his wand. You feel a wry amusement, but will them to go along with it...you lose five points for your House but somehow...somehow it doesn't seem as bad as it could, as you expected it to.

Because they are stood there. With you. Even as you hang your head in your embarrassment, the warmth is still there. Maybe...maybe it _isn't_ as bad as you thought...maybe you _don't_ have to choose...

You walk back to the Common Room in a daze. You cannot quite believe what just happened – but something has changed. You try and think what to say, try and work out...anything...but only one word comes to you when Harry and Ron arrive.

'Thanks.'


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Thank you as ever for the reviews, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

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"_Friends ask before they take your things. Best friends just steal them."_

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When you were younger, people took your things all the time. You adapted, just like everything else you adapted to – if you walked quickly enough and kept your head down, avoided their eyes, it was like they couldn't see you, almost, and you found it easier to ignore them. The walk became a habit that you barely noticed exhibiting. If you hooked your foot through the strap of your schoolbag when you sat down to class, they couldn't sneak it away from you under the desk. If you made sure you were in sight of a teacher as often as possible, they wouldn't dare approach you.

Only when they become unnecessary do you notice these habits. You notice, when you walk with Harry and Ron, that you are always half a step in front of them, and have to make a conscious effort to slow down. You notice, when a portrait you hadn't seen startles you by speaking, that you are still looking at the ground, and force yourself to raise your eyes – you see much more this way. You feel literally lighter. You begin to find that it doesn't matter if there are no teachers nearby – even less so if you have Harry and Ron with you.

The first time you realise quite how much things have changed is in Transfiguration. You are writing as fast as you can, ears full of the sound of your quill scratching on the parchment and so focused that at first you don't hear Harry's attempts to get your attention.

'_Hermione_,' he whispers, prodding your arm, 'hey, Hermione!'

'Sorry,' you reply distractedly, looking up – surprised at yourself for not minding the interruption, 'what is it?' You hiss back with a furtive glance towards Professor McGonagall, who is prowling the room silently, peering over your classmates' shoulders as they work.

'Have you got a spare quill? Mine's broken.' He holds up the long feather as evidence and you nod quickly, rummaging in your bag for another and handing it to him. He smiles in thanks, and you find yourself returning the gesture with warmth.

He _asked_. He actually _asked_ to borrow it. Such a simple thing shouldn't make you so happy, but it does; you've been so used to people either ignoring you completely or else just _taking_ things, that to be asked is...nice. Unexpected. And you can't hide the genuine smile that spreads across your face as a result of the sudden rush of fondness you feel towards everyone in the room.

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It's easier to relax when there are people with you doing it too – _with_ you, not _around_ you. Easier not to be quite so worried about something terrible happening if you don't work, if there are people telling you that it will be _fine_. And, for once, you believe them.

You believe them because they ask when they want to borrow things – and give them back in one piece when they're finished. You believe them because you _want_ to, and because you are gradually coming to realise that – sometimes – they are right, though you still prefer to make sure all of your work is finished before doing anything else. Trying to relax with that itching feeling of knowing that there are things you need to do is impossible, and Harry and Ron seem to have noticed this about you. True, they roll their eyes and exchange looks that you're sure they think you don't notice – but you don't mind. They know when to leave you to it; you appreciate that. In a strange kind of way you _like_ those little knowing glances they wear; it's nice to have people who seem to understand enough to do that, and from them, it doesn't seem malicious in the slightest.

Well – sometimes you wonder about some of the things that Ron says or does...but then sometimes you find it charming, and it's not like he only directs them at you. It's just part of who he is. As working is a part of who you are.

And then, of course, there are the times when they won't take no for an answer.

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'Hermione, we're going to Hagrid's right _now_, whether you like it or not,' announces Harry; he and Ron have already put their coats and scarves on, ready to brave the still-falling snow outside.

'You go ahead, I need to get this done – I take it you two are planning on leaving it all to last minute again, are you?' You admonish them, though really it's somewhat half-hearted. You only do it to try and help them, but you know well enough by now that it will do little good. Harry shifts guiltily, but Ron answers before Harry can speak.

'We've got another three days before that's due in, come on Hermione, relax!' You roll your eyes,

'How will you manage to get it done at all unless you have mine to copy?' You tease, and instantly feel terrible – that was an awful thing to say! But Ron grins, in what he evidently thinks is a charming way,

'It's alright, we can do it together later and you can just tell us all the answers,' he replies without a trace of hurt in his voice. You feel one of those odd rushes of affection towards your friends that seem to come at the strangest of moments. This is different yet again, this teasing, joking kind of conversation – it feels natural, comfortable, to be having. As if you have moved past some awkwardly polite phase of new friendship into something...deeper.

'I really have to get this done,' you say tell him,

'You've got plenty of time,' Harry argues, 'it'll do you good to have a break, and Hagrid invited all three of us...'

'I'm sorry,' you say, and you mean it, 'I can't – but say hi for me,' you smile sadly – you _want_ to go with them, but you can't just leave this unfinished. You turn back around in your seat, picking up your quill again – only to have it plucked swiftly out of your hand by Ron, who dances backwards out of your reach when you make a grab for it. 'Ron!' You exclaim, 'give that here!'

'Not until you come with us,' he side-steps your second attempt at snatching the quill, and holds it behind his back.

'I _can't_,' you repeat, feigning left and darting right, reaching behind his back – your fingernails scrape his wrist but he quickly swaps hands and holds the quill high in the air – far out of your reach. 'Ron! Come on, please – I need that!' You jump up, swiping for it, but can't reach – then spot your bag lying under the chair you just vacated, and shrug your shoulders in a reasonable approximation of nonchalance. 'Fine,' you say, your sudden change of demeanour wrong-footing Ron, 'I've got plenty of spares – oh no, please –!'

Harry reaches the bag before you can, and jumps back with it in his hands, now with a grin to match Ron's on his face. You stand between them, looking from one to the other with a calculating stare. Harry begins to look worried – and you target him, dashing forwards fast, but not fast enough, as his Quidditch-born reflexes take him out of harm's way. Vaguely, it registers that this really ought to feel worse than it does, stranded between the pair of them, struggling to get your things back – but this feels completely different to all those other times, before Hogwarts – really, there's nothing remotely similar about them, and you have to struggle against the smile that wants to break your menacing glare as you advance once more towards Harry.

You make yet another attempt to take back your bag, but Harry is too quick for you – as you reach out he suddenly beams mischievously and a second later Ron is tickling you from behind. You shriek and jump around, '_Ron!_' You slap his hands away in mock anger. He backs away, stumbles and falls against the portrait, which swings open – scrambling to his feet, still clutching onto your now crumpled quill (though in all honesty, even you have almost forgotten about it by now) – turns his back and runs.

'_Ronald Weasley you will pay for that_!' You shout, giving chase.

* * *

By the time you reach Hagrid's, all three of you are out of breath, panting and laughing, clutching stitches in your sides. Your cheeks are flushed pink, your hair even wilder and bushier than ever.

'I'll take that,' you say, triumphant and breathless, tugging the quill from Ron's loose grip; he sticks his tongue out at you, and you grin as Harry knocks at Hagrid's door.

Hagrid raises his eyebrows when he answers, eyes twinkling with amusement at the sight of the three of you. You're still smiling as you sit down in one of the oversized chairs.

Only when you get back to castle almost two hours later do you realise that you left the quill on Hagrid's table.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Sorry about the delay – exams took over my life! 90% of my friends, on finishing exams, go to the pub...I go on a writing spree. Although this is a very short chapter – next one should be longer.**

* * *

"_You're a great wizard, you know...there are more important things – friendship and bravery and – oh Harry – be _careful_!"_

* * *

It's been like a year from a dream. You still aren't even completely sure it's actually real, but if nothing else, even if it _has_ all been your imagination, you have learnt from it. More than you ever thought possible – more than you ever knew _existed_.

You've always loved to learn, always been determined to be the best – and certain that through absorbing all the knowledge you can, you will be. Almost everyone – or at least, almost every _adult_ – you know has told you at some point or another how successful you'll be. You think they are wrong.

If this year is anything to go by, there are so many things out there that you never even realised you didn't know, that you will simply never have the chance to learn them all. Not in a lifetime. Not in ten. There's too much of it, and at last you understand why people limit their curiosity to just one area of speciality; not through choice, but sheer necessity.

But the spells, the books, the history – that isn't why you think your elders mistaken. Those, you are sure that you will eventually be able to master, if you work hard enough. It's something else you've learned, something far more important than any of that, and you are far from the expert on it.

It seems the two boys who taught you this one lesson don't even realise it themselves.

This – you can't decide if this is part of the dream, or a nightmare, or real – but suddenly you _know_ that they are so much better than you, they always have been. And this – this – choking back tears of an emotion you can't even name, half drowned by absolute terror, you throw your arms around Harry and ignore his indignant cry of '_Hermione!_'

'Harry – you're a great wizard, you know.'

'I'm not as good as you,' he replies, blushing faintly with embarrassment.

'Me!' You exclaim – doesn't he _realise_? 'Books! And cleverness! There are more important things –' _and how can you not have known before, how can you not have known how vital Harry and Ron are, and how much _better_ than you_? '– there are more important things – friendship and bravery and – oh Harry – be _careful_!'

It comes out in a rush as you tell him, and you desperately hope he understands.

Because finally – _finally_ – you do.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: As ever, a huge thank you to reviewers, I really appreciate the feedback! This chapter is for prettybirdy979, who came up with the idea. I hope it's okay, and what you had in mind!  
**

* * *

"_...he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat writing..._"

* * *

It's a whole three days before you really start to miss them. To miss the whole thing, if you're honest, but Harry and Ron most of all.

Oh, you're glad to be home, of course – it's wonderful to see your parents again, to be back in your old room, even though the house does feel a lot smaller now than it used to – but you wish you could see your friends.

It feels odd to walk down the stairs and find yourself, not in the Gryffindor common room, but your parents' lounge. To go to sleep without the sound of Lavender's snoring in the bed next to yours. You've got so used to the fires of Hogwarts that little things like turning on an electric light keep throwing you off balance for a moment.

At Christmas it wasn't as hard – there was so much happening, and you hadn't been at Hogwarts for quite as long by that point – now it's just...strange. Not _bad_, not at all – you've had so much to tell your parents about! But still, it's taken some adjusting.

On the evening of the fourth day, you sit at the desk in your bedroom and dip the quill in the ink thoughtfully, biting your lip. You don't have an owl – at Hogwarts whenever you wanted to write home all you had to do was borrow a school one, or ask Harry for Hedwig – but your parents have agreed to take you to Diagon Alley so you can use the Post Office there. You don't think it's a trip they'll want to take often, though, so you have to make sure your letters are worthwhile.

_Dear Harry_, you write,

_How are you? I hope you're OK, your uncle didn't look very pleased when he came to pick you up at King's Cross – have they been treating you well? I know that they don't like magic, so you probably haven't told them about everything that happened with the Philosopher's Stone, but do try not to worry too much about it, you really ought to be very proud, you were very brave, and I'm sure they'll get used to the idea eventually._

_My parents were both awfully worried when I explained it all to them, but I think they'll be alright, and they'd love you meet you and Ron sometime, I've told them all about you of course – perhaps we could all meet up in Diagon Alley to get our school books? _

_I've made a good start on our homework already but it is very difficult without being able to go to the library – there's one around the corner from my house but it obviously doesn't stock books on Transfiguration! I used to go there a lot, but everything seems so small now. I'm finding it quite hard to get used to again; is it the same for you? I imagine it's easier for Ron, with all his family being magical._

_Do you think your aunt and uncle would let you come to see us at some point? Or Ron said we might be able to go to his house?_

_Let me know, and please write back soon! I miss you both already,_

_Love from Hermione._

You pause, think, and smile. There's no harm in a little gentle encouragement – neither of them are exactly the best at keeping on top of their assignments, after all...

_PS: Don't forget your homework! If you want any help then just send me an owl and I'll see what I can do!_

You read the letter through, frowning at some points and wondering if you should add anything, before tucking it safely into an envelope and setting it to one side. Dipping your quill in the ink again, you pull a second sheet of parchment towards yourself and begin another letter.

_Dear Ron_...

* * *

It's two days before you can post the letters, and you spend the entire week afterwards itching for a reply. Ron's comes on the sixth day, but there's no sign of Harry's. On the eighth, you wake up before either of your parents and are literally hanging out of the kitchen window, peering into the sky for any sign of an approaching owl, when your father walks in.

'Still nothing?' He asks as casually as he can; you know how hard they're trying to accept everything that comes with your being a witch, but they do find it difficult sometimes.

'No,' you reply sadly, 'I hope he's okay,'

'He'll be fine, he's probably just busy, that's all – maybe they've gone away?'

You pull your head back through the window, but don't close it – just in case.

'He didn't mention anything, though – and I...I don't really know. I just have a bad feeling,' you fidget with your sleeve, uneasy with Harry's silence, even though you know it hasn't actually been that long. It would just be good to hear from him, after everything that happened at the end of last year.

'Tell you what,' your dad tells you, squeezing your shoulder in a conciliatory way, 'give it a couple more days, then send another one. I'm sure it's nothing, though. Maybe his owl got lost,' the words are so obviously strange to him, but he says them in as normal a tone as he can manage, that when he smiles you can't help but return the gesture, despite the fact that you still can't shake the slightly uncomfortable feeling that niggles in the back of your mind.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_Are you alright? I just wanted to write and check, because I haven't heard from you and Ron says he hasn't either – I'm sure everything is fine and I don't want to make you feel bad or anything, but if you could just send one of us a letter to say you're OK, and that your aunt and uncle aren't being too awful?_

_It would be great to hear from you, I'm so sorry about being silly like this, but I'm worried about you!_

_I hope to hear from you soon,_

_Love from Hermione._

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_I don't know if you've replied to any of my letters or not, but if you have then nothing has arrived, Ron says he hasn't had anything from you either, and we're really getting concerned. Are you OK? Is it your aunt and uncle stopping you? Has something happened?_

_Just let us know you're alright._

_Love from Hermione._

* * *

If only you knew Harry's phone number you would call him. You wish you had thought to ask for it, and remind yourself to do so next time you see him. Owls suddenly seem like a very slow way to communicate, after a year of being perfectly ordinary, and it's so _frustrating_ not being able to contact anyone from the wizarding world any other way.

You've read all about the Floo Network, but you know that your house, being Muggle, will not be connected. Ron's must be though, and his parents must know of other ways for wizards to communicate, or be able to find out if Harry is okay – maybe he can ask them?

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_I still haven't heard anything from Harry, I don't know what's going on. He might not be getting our letters, or his aunt and uncle might not be letting him reply. Have you any idea? Do you think you could ask your parents if there's any other way to contact him? Mine say they're sure he's fine, but I'd like to check, just so we can be certain._

_Please let me know if he writes to you!_

_Love from Hermione._

* * *

Ron's reply is just two days in coming this time, delivered by his poor bedraggled owl, Errol, who you have to nurse back to health for the night before you can write back. You rip the envelope open so eagerly that you tear the letter inside.

_Hermione –_

_No, I haven't heard from him. I thought it was Errol's fault before –_

You give the exhausted owl a sympathetic glance, and understand Ron's reasoning fully, the poor bird.

– _but if he's still not getting back to you then it must be something else. I reckon Mum and Dad are worried too but they haven't said anything and when I asked them they just told me to leave it for now. Fred and George say they might be able to help though. I'll get back to you._

_Ron._

* * *

You are irritable and frustrated for days, though your parents do their best to comfort you. You know it isn't their fault, but can't help snapping at them occasionally, and eventually you resolve to try one last time before insisting that someone do _something_.

* * *

_Dear Harry, _

_I don't know if you're getting my letters or not, but I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday and let you know that Ron's family are worried too, he says he's going to talk to his brothers about doing something but I think it would be best if you could let us know that you're alright because I'm not sure he meant something _legal_._

_Please, please write back soon if you can, and if not, then we're working on contacting you some other way!_

_Love from Hermione._

* * *

The letter that arrives on the day before Harry's birthday is from Ron – you immediately recognise his messy scrawl, even worse than usual given the hurry he must have been in when he wrote it.

_Hermione – _

_Fred and George have got an idea. Can't tell you much, but we've got it all sorted and we're going to get him tomorrow night, I'm sure it's the Muggles stopping him, and he'll probably be at mine by the time you reply so if you write to him address it here._

_Ron._

Errol is looking terrible and you feel bad for sending him off again so soon after his arrival, but you're desperate for news – and by the sounds of it, Ron is going to do something without his parents' permission, which could be dangerous or – knowing what his brothers are like – possibly illegal.

Your worry about their method wars with the relief of knowing that you should hear something from Harry soon, and know the reason for his silence. You at least know that between the three of them, Ron and the twins are stubborn enough that they'll manage whatever it is they're trying, so it's with a much calmer outlook that you sit to write your next letter, hopefully the last one of such uncertainty.

_Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there..._


End file.
